That's What People Do
by mistress.moriarty.x
Summary: Possibly the only fic ever in which Moriarty is not with Sherlock or Moran, which means readership will probably be about 0. Jim Moriarty decides to create his own entertainment, at the expense of a lonely young woman. Moriarty's POV. M for sexy violence.


I don't know what possessed me to go after the girl. Boredom, I suppose. Sherlock Holmes was doing that thing where he holed up in his apartment for weeks at a time and refused to do anything interesting, and I wasn't in the mood to bait him just yet.

So I went to a pub. Hate those places. Full of the uncouth and uncivilised, swilling back cheap liquor and believing themselves far more interesting than they are. Men bragging about sexual conquests they've never made, and girls begging to be taken by them. There's nothing adorable about them. Nothing worth watching.

So why did I go back? I don't know. Sometimes I believe in second chances, though I never call them that. I prefer to think of them as "new opportunities."

Some people say "be ready when opportunity knocks." I prefer to watch through the keyhole, wait until it raises its fist, and then wrench open the door and seize it by the throat.

And that was exactly what I planned to do tonight.

I dressed down, of course. Couldn't show up looking _too_ good. Besides, I really wasn't in the mood to spend the morning taking my suit to the cleaners because some drunken inebriate had been sick on it. So I went business casual. Just another lonely banker out for a drink after a long day of losing other people's money.

Well, there had been other people's money involved with my work that day, as every day, but I certainly wasn't losing it. I would call it...making investments.

The pub was full of women wearing clothes that didn't suit them and men who were determined to get said clothes off of said women. None of them interested me. It would be too easy to flash a quick smile, offer a compliment, (a lie, of course) and have them hanging on my every word. I wasn't interested in that. I wanted a challenge. A distraction. I wanted a woman who would put up a bit of a fight. In more ways than one, if you follow my meaning. And I wasn't seeing her here, among the peroxide and the silicone.

If this little excursion turned out to be a waste of time, I was going to be pretty angry. I had come here with the hopes of finding some brief interlude from the greedy gaping maw of human life, not to immerse myself in a cultural study of it.

And then I saw her. Short, neat dark hair. Dressed well, compared to the rest of the room…better make that dressed, compared to the rest of the room. Stirring something idly and watching the crowd.

She looked as bored as I felt. She didn't mind being alone, I could tell. She wouldn't just go home with any man who approached her, but at the same time, as confident as she appeared outwardly, she was lonely. I'd learned to recognise the lonely ones. Quite often, it turns out to be the fatal flaw, the chink in otherwise impenetrable armour. Such a human weakness, the hunger for companionship. Enter someone charming, clever, witty, enter someone interesting, and suddenly you're sharing every detail about yourself that you think will keep their attention.

I yawned, blinking twice, and there was the shift. Warm up the eyes, flash a little smile. Change the body language. Drop the shoulders; let the fingers twist amongst themselves ever so slightly. Slip into Jim. Easy-going, mild-mannered, quiet Irish Jim.

I wandered up to the bar and ordered an overpriced beer. I don't even really like beer, but Jim would. Jim is a mediocre fellow with mediocre taste. Jim is nothing.

Jim makes people trust him, but I'm the one who makes them stay. Not that they know it. If ever they saw the true Jim Moriarty, they'd be running scared in the time it takes their stupid little heart to send all their stupid little blood rushing through their stupid little bodies.

I reluctantly shook off the thought. Jim didn't think like that. I couldn't slip up now. Not with the potential for such an entertaining evening sitting in a darkened corner just a dozen feet away.

I made my way over to her slowly, letting my gaze drag across the sea of exposed flesh I was travelling through to get there. Sometimes I'd catch an eye, occasionally I'd wink. They were so easy to play with. I didn't even have to try.

She looked up as I approached her table. Her eyes narrowed, and her posture stiffened. I pretended to stumble. Beer splashed onto the floor, but none spilled on her dress.

"So sorry," I said, laughing nervously. She smiled.

"It's all right. The building's a hundred years old. The floors are a little uneven."

We start right in with the attempting to impress with mundane facts, I sighed. Maybe she's not as special as I'd hoped. But a snarky comment now will ruin everything. Better to keep playing the apologetic card.

"I didn't get any on you, did I? I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," she laughed, but her eyes were still wary. Good. Didn't want this to be _too_ easy.

"Are you here by yourself, then?" I asked. Her eyes lingered on mine for a moment too long before darting around the room. There was no one with her. But she was about to lie to me.

"No, I'm here with a…friend. She's just nipped off to the loo. She'll be back in a moment."

Loo's the opposite way from where you're looking, darling, I thought. But clearly, she was getting a little spooked. I had to get her back.

"I'm Jim," I said, offering her the hand that's not holding a beer bottle. She was taken slightly off-guard, but couldn't refuse without seeming rude, so she accepted the handshake.

"Adrian," she replied. Her eyes were back on me, and I could tell that although she was still nervous, she was starting to like what she saw. She let my hand slip through hers and took a long swallow out of whatever it was she was drinking.

"So what do you do, Jim?" she asked. Excellent. Personal interest.

"I'm a consultant."

An hour and a half of tedious conversation later, she was a little bit drunker and a whole lot more willing to take me back to hers. I had been feigning intoxication, laughing a little too loudly and a little too long.

We staggered through the door of her flat. She closed the door behind us and leaned towards me for another kiss. I caught her by the chin and forced her head up.

"Hello, Adrian," I whispered. I could feel her pulse flickering under my finger, racing like a frightened rabbit, but she seemed less afraid of me now than she had when she first met me.

"What are you doing, Jim?" she asked, suddenly seeming much more sober than she had a few seconds ago. "What do you want?" Her voice trembled slightly.

I pushed her against the wall, my hand slipping down her neck to press against the hollows of her throat. "I want you…to entertain me," I murmured, my lips almost touching her ear.

She drew in a sharp breath. I smiled and stepped back, letting my hand fall. Her eyes never left mine.

"Who are you?"

"Enough questions. Let's get down to business."


End file.
